


blue medina

by desvelo



Category: VALORANT (Video Game)
Genre: Face-Fucking, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29630427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desvelo/pseuds/desvelo
Summary: Cypher knows that on these sands his prey’s as good as caught.
Relationships: Cypher/Yoru
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	blue medina

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos and such kind comments on my works :-) just to give you another chance to turn back - while some of my other fics have been a little mean, this one is much more distasteful and explicit. if you’re at all sensitive to non-con or violence, please take this as an additional warning! i’ll eventually write something sweet again i promise

Cypher's work is as a predator. In the dark blue corridors of the medina where the unassuming face no natural threats he fills a necessary niche: he keeps their population in check. He will lure them, he will dazzle them, and he will snap them up when they’re stupid enough to fall for his charms. These are the moments when he’s gripped by power, when nothing can stop him from tearing into flesh with his powerful jaws. 

He treads lightly on the sand. His team is on the other side of the old city, too far for his shots to ring clear. The mural-thickened walls smile down on him, winking in approval. 

Through the dust Cypher hears footsteps, heavy and wet on wood. Anyone unfortunate enough to be here is trespassing. His hand is steady on his gun. 

The footsteps are closer to him now, moving fast. He already knows what’s happening. He knows he’s at the top of the food chain. His prey is young, still walking on shaky calf’s legs; it’ll have to be taught about the dangers lurking at the edges of the pasture. 

Cypher has as many eyes as there are frescos on these ancient walls. In his camera he spots just a sliver of his target, pressed against a crate deep in the southern spice market. Had Cypher been anyone else it would have been a clever place to hide - unlucky for his mark. The footsteps peter out in the sand to the north. 

Moving quick and light with thrill Cypher hugs the shadows and heads south. This moment has become a favorite of his, on the precipice and ready to lunge. He’s always impressed by how well he can move and think and fight when he can feel his blood swirling, when he’s perverted by a need for cruelty. His task is so simple though that thought is secondary. In the turmeric air of the market he cocks his gun and fires two heavy rounds through the crate. The man on the other side slumps and gurgles. Cypher towers over the new-slain knight. 

“Fancy yourself a little spy, do you?” The man below him clutches his stomach. He’s a comic sight, dressed for a part in a gangster movie, not for combat. There’s already blood on the white of his shoes. 

“Trash,” the man coughs. “You’re a rat.” 

“I may be a rat but you’re in my cage. Did you really think you could get away from me here?” Cypher’s done his homework - this worm on the ground is the other side’s new agent. Agents who don’t do their homework have short careers. He tight-lipped smiles inside his mask and pokes the man’s side with the tip of his boot. He coughs again, hacks up pink spit. “Would you like to tell me where your friends are, Yoru?” 

“They’ll kill you.” 

“Cooperate.” Cypher still has his gun out. He flashes it to the meat below. “I lose my patience.” Yoru bares his teeth at him, mostly out of pain. 

“It is your luck that I don’t need you to tell me. I’ve spotted them all like I spotted you but I gave you a chance. You should show more respect.” 

“Just get on with it. Kill me or leave me alone to die. Torture me. I don’t care. I don’t want to talk.” Yoru already looks weaker, sunk further against the wall, a whitish foam on his lower lip. 

Cypher shrugs. He’s holding back a sickening grin. “If anyone asks it was you who suggested it.” Cypher lifts his foot and grinds the sole into Yoru’s stomach, into the hands cradling those twin wounds. Yoru gags in pain, wheezes, and spits up more gunk. “It’s a pity we won’t get to chat. I do like to get to know my dates before I take them home.” Yoru can’t respond. Cypher is stood contrapposto atop him, watching him suffer a little longer beneath his foot. 

That’s time enough. “Alright, we get up now.” Cypher hooks his hands into Yoru’s armpits and hoists him up so he’s sitting straight against the wall, almost hovered above the ground. “Hold yourself.” Cypher unclasps his belt, sweeps aside the front of his coat. Yoru is shellacked, blanched, but he’s managed to stay upright about where Cypher left him, head high. So strong of will and so docile. 

Cypher takes a step forward. “Now, little doggy, don’t bite.” With his right hand he pinches Yoru’s nose shut. With his left he clamps his chin and pulls. It’ll be sooner than later. After a feeble attempt to hold his breath Yoru opens his mouth and Cypher shoves his dick in. Yoru splutters. His mouth is full of phlegm. Cypher doesn’t care. He forces himself further, feeling the bulge of Yoru’s nose as he tries for air. A few agonizing seconds go by; he lets go and pulls out. Yoru exhales heavy, spit falling to the ground as he gasps. It’s a short reprieve - Cypher starts again, Yoru’s head in one hand, the other arm propped against the wall to keep his balance. 

Looking down Cypher can’t help but feel the creeping warmth of sadism fulfilled. It’s a stronger sensation than those libidinal pleasures and an even more fundamental need. Part of the fun is knowing that, despite Cypher’s warning, Yoru wouldn’t have anything to lose if he bit - it’s not like he’ll make it out of here if he holds his teeth. But look how scared he is. Sweet Yoru isn’t ready to leave this world just yet. That knowledge makes Cypher weak in the knees, his fingers furled in Yoru’s thick-gelled hair, all his weight in his arm against the wall. 

In this state Cypher’s more aggressive. It’s the pleasure of causing pain. With each thrust Yoru chokes again, saliva pearling down his chin in red-and-white candystripes, more blood in his mouth from his worsening wounds. It stains Cypher’s coat. 

Without warning something goes wrong and Yoru pukes. Greenish bile spills from him in waves. Cypher moves back like he’s stepped in something distasteful and Yoru crumples, throwing up over himself and the ground and Cypher’s boots. The pain must be unbearable - he’s doubled over, pressuring his injuries, throwing up until there’s nothing left but burning air. Cypher looks at him mewling. 

“You filthy boy. You like this, no? You would only give a gift to someone you like.” Cypher grasps Yoru by the blue of his hair and knocks his skull into the wall behind him. There’s still bile dripping from the corners of his mouth. His eyes are a dead man’s. When he looks into their copper dullness Cypher feels a tug below his ribs. Leaning down he brings his lips to the other man’s, kisses him through the knit of his mask. It’s been a long time since a time like this one. Yoru is slack against the plaster. 

“Open.” Cypher taps Yoru’s drooling mouth and with the force of gravity it does. He grabs ahold of Yoru’s neck and leans forward, pushing his cock down his throat. He thinks he can feel himself through Yoru’s esophagus. Yoru’s hands are pressed against his thighs, nails digging into him even through his pants. As seconds go by the scraping is more desperate. Cypher relents. Yoru, catching his breath, is defeated. 

It’s close to the pinnacle but despite the wonderful pitiable man below him something switched; Cypher’s lost interest. Yoru is too far gone to put up a fight. Cypher doesn’t want to make him fight anymore. Nauseous, he sticks two gloved fingers in Yoru’s mouth and jerks himself off. Yoru doesn’t respond. 

It is with effort that Cypher cums, dripping himself onto Yoru’s smeared face. On his skin is clear pink and red, yellow-green, now white. His wounds and his blood make it look like all of him is spilling out of himself. He’s tired. 

The sight of Yoru covered in slop, totally defeated, totally claimed, feeds the growing feeling in his pelvis, his diaphragm, the center of his stomach. Suddenly Cypher’s the one who needs to puke, show all his insides to God. Acid splatters onto the sand. 

He has trespassed; he has gone astray. What good is it to recognize sin after it has overtaken you? There was once an Aamir of moral fortitude, one who remembered the nerves with which he first drew blood in bed, who wept to his wife when he first drew it in conflict. That Cypher’s evil heart burst through his chest and killed him. 

Yoru is sleeping. Cypher is on his hands and knees, throat raw, eyes flowing over. Overtaken by a stronger need than he had ever felt Cypher kisses Yoru’s closed eyes, his own tears fluttering through those dark lashes. He has only caused suffering. He will not leave this hellish place. 

“Goodbye, my riftwalker. Nora, I will see you again.”

**Author's Note:**

> post-nut clarity


End file.
